Take Me Home
by in48frames
Summary: I don't know these buildings, I think I am lost; would you be good enough to take me home? / After Betty's assault, she receives comfort from... guess who.


Two of the soldiers walk Betty and Teresa back to the rooming house; they wait downstairs while Teresa sees Betty to her door, and a bit past it.

Behind the closed door, Teresa sits Betty down on the bed, takes her hand in one and caresses her face with the other. "Will you be all right?"

Betty just nods.

"You know I would stay if I could…" Teresa says, now trying to let her down easy. They've talked about this; Teresa has observant soldiers and Betty doesn't exactly live in privacy herself. Nighttime is not theirs.

Betty nods again, says "It's fine" and her voice cracks a bit because all she really wants is to be alone so she can cry it out. She shakes it off, looks Teresa dead in the eye and says, "Really."

Holding her chin, Teresa leans down to kiss the unharmed corner of her mouth, and Betty steels herself not to wince.

As soon as she's gone the tears come up like a wave, not so much an effort as a function her body performs with or without her permission. She lies down and turns the less-bruised side of her face into the pillow, knowing she'll stain it with her blood and not caring. She cries as hard as she can ever remember having cried in her life, harder than when she was five and her brothers decided to lock her in the chicken coop for the first time. She hiccups and sobs and pounds her fist into the mattress, wishing she could just take the whole night back, wishing she weren't such a goddamned hothead.

When she's trailing off with sniffles and half-caught sobs, when she's nearly spent, she hears a knock at the door. She frowns, squints her sore eyes, but doesn't move.

"Betty?" It's Kate, calling softly. "Will you let me in?"

Her stomach twists and she feels sick, but she's too tired to figure out whether it's smart or stupid to let Kate in at this point. She drags herself off the bed and over to the door, turning her face away from the mirror so she doesn't have to see her pitiful self. Opening the door just enough, she leans on the jamb and looks out at Kate, who stands awkwardly clutching her bag, just in from the street.

"Oh my God," Kate says on a breath, before meeting Betty's eyes. "I mean, I heard about what happened. Can I come in?"

Again, Betty is torn and too tired to make the harder call. She steps back and lets the door fall open, moving back to the bed. She wipes at her eyelashes with her sleeve, but can't begin to imagine what a mess of blood and tears the rest of her face has become so doesn't even bother.

Kate has closed the door and stands just inside. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, looking at Betty and avoiding her eyes at the same time.

Betty leans back on her hands, still squinty from her puffy eyelids, and says, "Well, come in if you're coming in." Her voice is rough, as if she's been talking over loud music, and she coughs and clears her throat.

Leaving her purse on the dresser, Kate approaches the bed. She reaches out to gingerly touch Betty's face, tilt it to the light, and Betty closes her eyes. Kate's fingertips trail lightly over Betty's cheeks, so lightly she can barely tell they're there.

"I won't tell you what you look like," Kate says, dropping her hands; the words a joke but the tone nowhere close.

"I have some idea," Betty replies.

Sitting on the bed beside her, Kate reaches automatically for Betty's hand—freezes—pulls back and folds her hands in her lap. She says softly, "I'm sorry. I can't imagine how terrifying that must have been."

Betty shrugs and winces, her hand going to rub at her neck. This time Kate's hand lifts just an inch before dropping back to her leg.

Looking concerned, Kate asks, "It's not just your face, is it?"

Betty sighs and dips her head, still massaging her neck. "To be honest, everything hurts at least a little. I feel like my body's gone through a meat tenderizer. What I wouldn't give for one nice hot bath."

"Why don't you lie down and pretend?"

Trying not to contort her face, Betty gives Kate the side-eye. "What?"

Kate smiles weakly. "Humour me. When I was very, very small—" Kate stands up and pulls back the covers, motioning for Betty to get in bed fully dressed. Betty is exhausted and does as she's told. "—my mother would put us to sleep this way." Betty sinks into the bed and closes her eyes, feeling silly; Kate tucks the covers around her and sits on the edge of the bed, keeping one hand lightly on Betty's shoulder.

"Now, imagine you're getting ready for a bath. You turn on the tap and within seconds the water is boiling hot. You plug the drain and the room starts to fill with steam. The hot water doesn't run out—you can fill the whole tub, and once it's full you step in. It's so hot you can barely stand it, you dip in one toe at a time. When you've finally adjusted, you lie in the hot, hot water and feel all your muscles start to relax. It's so soothing…"

Betty is asleep. Her eyes are still puffy and her lip is swollen, but the furrow between her brows is gone. Kate lifts her hand from Betty's shoulder and touches her face again, gently smoothing over her eyebrow and the dried blood there. She stands, leans over, and kisses Betty's forehead—just barely.

Just once, this one time, this only time, Kate sits on the chair beside Betty's dresser and leans her head back against the wall.

She can't leave her tonight.


End file.
